


Home

by HereToWrite



Series: A-Team AUs [3]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team (TV), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Superpowers, also, and a touch of, it's nothing intense nor graphic and it's brief but I feel the need to let people know, on the side because I live for that trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 14:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereToWrite/pseuds/HereToWrite
Summary: Murdock learns later, from an army doctor, that the mutant gene is often triggered by high-stress situations and who would have thought, but it turns out that war is a high-stress situation.Or, the army is no place for mutants, but Murdock's good at hiding. Right up until the moment he isn't.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> I've once again borrowed Mexico from the movie, but the rest of this is all based on the TV show.

**Mutant**

Murdock knows how to pretend, how to hide, how to act. He knows how to pretend to be sane. He knows to hide that he’s scared. He knows how to act  _ normal _ because that’s safer than the alternative. That’s safer than being caught. Then again, perhaps getting caught was always inevitable.

**\---**

He first discovers the problem shortly after the CIA dumps him unceremoniously into the lap of US Army and tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s on his own. So much for brotherhood and oaths of loyalty and all that nonsense, apparently the government was big on throwing away their damaged goods, but at least they believed in recycling. ‘Reduce, Reuse, Recycle,’ that’s what Murdock always said, it was good for the environment and such.

So, Murdock does what any good soldier does in a hard situation, he straightens his back and gets to work. It works for a while. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and then, on his third day in camp, he notices _them._ They're lined up across the tarmac, heads bowed, hands restrained, and faces hallow. He watches in confusion as they're marched towards an unmarked black plane, guns following their every movement. They look like prisoners, only they're not Vietnamese. 

“Who are they?” He asks the soldier to his left. A private named Bill, who’s all scruffy and angry until you get to know him, then he’s just as soft as one of Murdock’s stuffed animals. Murdock had told him so once and Bill had punched him in the face for his troubles. But, well, what’s a small punch between friends?

“Mutants,” Bill spits out the word like a curse.

Murdock frowns and turns back to watch the sad line of marching soldiers, “Where are they going?”

Bill shrugs and lights a cigarette, “Who knows, but those things ain’t allowed here. You can’t trust ‘em.” Then he leans in like he’s sharing a secret, and whispers, “Personally, I don’t even think they’re human.”

Murdock licks his lips and nods, turning back to look at the mutants being marched away. They still look human to him. They all have two eyes and ears, a mouth just above the chin and a nose right above that. Surely that has to count for something?

Before he can voice that particular question to Bill there’s an alarm ringing and it’s off to war.

**\---**

He learns later, from an army doctor, that the mutant gene is often triggered by high-stress situations and who would have thought, but it turns out that war is a high-stress situation.

He watches as Sergeant Keys is dragged into a plane kicking and screaming and cursing, all because he’s grown an arm back where he’d lost his last one. Murdock doesn’t understand. Shouldn’t that be a good thing? Shouldn’t they just be glad he won’t be crippled forever?

But instead of congratulations and joy, there’s a scoff of, “The armies no place for mutants” followed by a chorus of agreements in response. Murdock only looks away.

The desperation in Sergeant Keys’ eyes haunts him anyway.

**\---**

Four days later his chopper goes down.

There’s screaming. Terrified people who know they’re dead, but just can’t accept it yet.

He closes his eyes and waits. Nothing.

He opens them to find himself outside the cockpit and hovering three feet above the fiery metal that was once his chopper.

He panics. He falls.

They call it a miracle when they drag him from the wreckage, bruised and barbequed, but alive.

He doesn’t correct them.

**\---**

He holds on for another month. Think heavy thoughts. Like barbells and bank safes and the fact that you’ll probably die here amidst all the bullets and screams.

In his barrack, he falls asleep to rain. Dreams of chopper crashes, scorched bodies, and flight. He wakes up to screams.

He flails, goes to roll out of bed. They’re coming. They’re under attack. Only he doesn’t roll out of bed, he rolls through the air, and they’re not under attack.  _ He is _ . They’re attacking him.  _ They won’t let him go. _

_ Heavy thoughts,  _ he pleads with himself (he thinks of the fact he’s been caught) and sends himself crashing to the floor.

There’re bodies on top of him in an instance. Cuffs around him in two. He’s being led out the door in three.

“I knew it!” Someone is screaming, it sounds like Bill. Bill who had tossed an arm around his shoulder last week and sworn they’d make it out alive together. Maybe open up a bar somewhere in Texas. “I knew there was something wrong with him! He was never normal!”

It hurts like a punch to the gut and it spurs the rest of his unit into action. Whispers erupting from behind him. The copter crash, they remember. It was his fault. It was sabotage. Revenge. The words lodge in his brain. Bringing up doubts and fears. If only he’d been faster, quicker, smarter then maybe everyone would have lived. But they hadn’t and not for the first time Murdock wishes he’d died with his men, but lady luck has never been on his side before, why should she have started then?

**\---**

Mexico is a nightmare. Only he can’t wake up.

How long has he been insane?

Since they dumped him here? Since the copter crash? No, before that. Since the CIA? He’s always been garbage, thrown away from one battlefield to the next. Maybe recycling isn’t so good for the environment after all. Especially, because he hates the environments he keeps ending up in. Whenever it had happened he knows that his mind was floating away long before his body was. At least they’ve managed to solve the latter problem. 

He pulls at the chains that connect him to the ground experimentally. Nothing. He hates it. He lays down and closes his eyes.

He dreams of flying.

**\---**

Days? Weeks? Months?  _ Years _ ? Pass in a blur of being poked and prodded and questioned.

As more and more needles descend upon him he wants to scream that he isn’t a pincushion. Instead, he just sings opera at the top of his lungs, but only because he’s tired of screaming.

**\---**

The first time he tries to escape is the day his mind decides that he only speaks Latin. He remembers too late that in Mexico they speak Spanish. He doesn’t even make it to the outside.

**\---**

They see how long he can float for. They ask him how it works.

They prod him when he does it and they prod him when he doesn’t.

He just can’t win.

He quotes Hamlet and they won’t even compliment his wonderful rendition of to be or not to be.

They don’t even ask him if he’s all right.

**\---**

He can always tell when someone’s been told about his condition.

They stop looking at him like he's a person.

He looks down at his feet, hovering two inches above the ground. Then at himself in the mirror, eyes dull and lifeless. Who can blame them?

**\---**

During the 50 th escape attempt, he finally gathers up enough courage to just throw himself through a window. For a brief scary moment, he doesn’t know if he should think heavy or light thoughts and he plummets towards the earth.

He catches himself at the last moment, hovering inches from the ground and keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Billy. He couldn’t leave him alone. They need each other. Only Billy does his job too well because he forgets to think heavy thoughts so that he can start running away.

They take him back inside, kicking and threatening. They don’t even need to drag him, he just floats along and screams.

**\---**

They do something. Clip something small and circular around his wrist and whatever part of him could still fly vanishes.

It feels like a piece of his soul’s been cut off.

He no longer floats.

He no longer dreams of flying.

He just has nightmares of falling, burning aircraft and war.

**\---**

He gets caught during attempts number 70 to 72 because his socks turn him in.

Their perfectly positioned button eyes glint at him evilly as he’s dragged down the hallway.

He doesn’t wear socks for two weeks. He doesn’t need them.

He doesn’t need anybody.

**\---**

On his 120 th escape attempt, he meets Face. Which leads to meeting BA. Which leads to meeting Hannibal.

And then Hannibal does the impossible. _Hannibal takes him with them_.

He feels giddy, running his hands along the side of the helicopter they’ve commandeered. She’s beautiful.

Of course, he had always known that escape attempt number 120 was going to be a success. He had just never imagined that he’d fly his way out.

**\---**

They never ask about his condition. He isn’t even sure if they know about it.

But he’s in the army again (and the army’s no place for mutants) so they must not.

That’s fine by him. Better for it to be kept quiet, it increases his odds of becoming non-recyclable. Besides, he still has his nifty, if slightly chafing, metal bracelet. It prevents him from having accidents and he keeps it hidden under sock puppets and bomber jackets. When those are unavailable, he traps it away under conveniently tied bandanas and bandages. No one can see it, so no one can ask.

But the fear of them finding out lives constantly in that dark corner of his mind. Dragging him into a pool of anxiety and panic. He just wraps himself in floaties and tries not to drown in it.

**\---**

Then it’s guns and bombs and bloodshed and then there’s the Problem. Capitalized and everything, because they’re going down.

“Captain!” That’s Hannibal.

“Nothing to worry about Bossman!” He  shouts back, struggling with the controls of the chopper. “Just a little artificial turbulence! People like to throw it at helicopters to keep us pilots on our toes!”

An explosion.

Face  swears , “I think that we lost something!”

Murdock’s inclined to agree and judging by the smoke he’d say it was their tail rotor. Right. Decision time.

Decision number one. He could crash this bird into the Earth below and successfully kill them all.

Decision number two. He could try and keep this bird in the air long enough for those people who are conscious to parachute out. Successfully killing only half of them.

Or decision number three.

The sleeve of his jacket has rolled up and decision three is gleaming at him temptingly.

Right. Decision three. He floats them all out and only he dies. Sure, it may not be a literal death, but it will still be a type of death. Back to prodding and poking and alienation. Recycling. But his team will still be alive.

In the end, it’s not even a decision.

He jams the controls of a helicopter in a way that he hopes will keep it semi-straight and then stumbles his way to his unit.

“Murdock?!” Face  yelps . “What are you doing?! Who’s flying the chopper?!”

“Don’t worry I left Billy in charge,” Murdock  rambles . “He’s a great pilot. A little nervous, but I’ll have you know that in all the times I’ve had him fly he’s only crashed once.”

Of course, Billy has also only ever flown once before, but Face doesn’t need to know that. Honestly, Billy has a terrible track record. He needs more training.

But first things first. He begins to go through a bag in the back.

“ _ You left your invisible dog in charge of flying the chopper!”  _ Face’s voice is just south of hysterical and really, he needs to calm down. There’s only room for one aerophobia driven person in this unit and that vacancy has been filled.

Murdock pulls out his new treasure, a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters and ignores Face completely as he shoves them between his skin and his most hated piece of jewelry.

Hannibal swears and tries to pull Murdock’s arm away, probably because he’s bleeding, but Murdock shoves him off.

“Don’t touch me,” he  hisses , and it may be just a bit too panicked because the older man’s hand recoils like he’s touched fire. Balancing the cutters between his free arm and his knees Murdock pushes down and the bracelet comes off.

There’s a rush of something inside him that was better than any drug the people at the VA had ever given him. It’s breathtaking, amazing. It feels like freedom. It feels like home.

“Oh,” he blinks at the new sensation. There was something he needed to do, what—

Alarms. Swearing.

Oh, that’s right. They were crashing.

He stands up.

“Alright men!” He  sings happily. “If I may direct you to the door!”

He flings it open.

“Murdock! What about flying the chopper!”

“Chopper’s done for Faceman!” Murdock  says happily, pulling his best smile onto his face. “I forgot to mention that Billy is a terrible pilot, crashes everything he flies, so I’m afraid we’re just going to have to do this the hard way!”

While Face gapes at him, Murdock bends down and wraps his arms tightly around BA’s torso and lifts. He weighs much more than Murdock had calculated, the old mudsucker must be wearing his gold underneath his uniform again.  _ Honestly _ , and the man thought Murdock was insane.

“Gentlemen and Gentlemen,” Murdock monotones in his best announcer voice. “This is your captain speaking. At this time, we must ask you all to make your way to your nearest exit--in this case the right-hand door--for your immediate departure of the aircraft. If you would please hang onto the nearest pilot so as not to crash and die.” Murdock grins manically at the others as he finishes and waits.

Hannibal must know something’s up because he grabs hold of Murdock immediately and tightly. The Jazz gleaming in his eyes.

Face, on the other hand, looks at Murdock like he’s…well like he’s insane. Which is fair, but does he have to do that now?

“Murdock what are you—”

He doesn’t let Face finish. There’s no time. They gotta jump now or someone’s going to die. So, he just grabs hold of the back of the conman’s shirt and throws himself and his team out the chopper door.

Face is screaming.

Hannibal is swearing.

And BA is snoring blissfully unaware of it all, but Murdock he’s panicking.

He can feel the wind rushing past them, less so than expected, but it’s not enough. He’s never done this with another person before, much less three, and his brain is calculating frantically. Too much lift will propel them back upwards, like a cartoon cat stepping on a nail, but too little will have them all becoming cartoon cat pancakes on the ground. Balance. He needs a balance.

Too bad he’s never been good at balancing.

The wind is rushing past him and Murdock closes his eyes and prays. Somewhere below him, the chopper explodes on impact. He hopes Billy made it out.

The wind is still howling.

He thinks light thoughts.

Rainbows. Puppies.

The look on his teammates’ faces when he had fed them his hamburger special for the first time.

The way that Face had taken seconds just to be polite.

The wind slows.

The way BA shouts at him for being crazy but has never once tried to take Billy away like the nurses had.

The wind stops. Murdock opens his eyes. They’re floating. Maybe 20 feet off the ground.

Face has stopped screaming.

Murdock hates the silence that follows.

He floats there for a second and then breathing in deeply he thinks heavy thoughts.

The fact that he’s going to be discharged and recycled away again.

They plummet down too fast and Murdock thinks that maybe he should’ve thought of something less heavy for this delicate procedure.

He thinks of Billy and they come to a stop at what’s maybe 5 feet from the ground. Which Murdock feels like is a pretty survivable fall. Well more like his body decides, because all at once he feels heavy, the normal kind of heavy, and all the energy rushes out of him. 

They fall and hit the ground hard, but alive. So very very alive. Murdock wants to laugh in relief, but the sound is caught in his throat.

Someone is shouting, swearing. Oh, good. BA is waking up. Murdock chokes on another laugh, the Big Guy is going to be so mad.

They’re all staring at him now, probably because he hasn’t gotten up off the ground.

Another aborted laugh, they’re  _ all  _ going to be so mad.

“Mutants can’t join the army,” he remembers sadly, as Billy comes to lick his face.

Then everything goes black.

**\---**

He wakes up in a medic tent with a slim cuff around his wrist and panics. He tries to lift his other arm, but it’s also chained down and his legs and oh.  _ Oh no. _

They’re going to ship him out and take him back. Back to the hospital that promises to help, but just pricks and prods and asks him how he ticks. He doesn’t even know how he ticks.

Something’s beeping crazily and he’s breathing harshly.

Then there are hands on him. Clawing. Grasping. He screams and floats and flails. Why won’t they leave him alone?

Then the hands are gone and it’s quiet. No, not quiet. Somebody’s crying. Who’s crying?

Somebody else is cursing, saying something about cuffs and a hand touches his wrist. He flinches away. There’s a sob. The hand leaves. Who’s crying?

“Murdock, hey buddy, it’s just me. It’s okay.”

Face?

He turns his head, trying to find the source of the noise.

“Yeah, it’s me, can you focus on me for a second?”

Oh, had he asked that out loud?

Someone’s bending down into his line of sight.

There’s a smile on his face.

Murdock knows that smile.

It’s the, I’m-trying-to-keep-it-together-for-you smile. Patent pending.

“Face?” He  asks again.

A look of relief.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Face, I don’t want to go back.” And his voice is just a bit too loud, a bit too high. “You can’t let them take me back!”

If he can convince Face that he’s good, that he’s an asset to the team, then Face can convince Hannibal and then it’ll be okay. Well maybe BA will throw a fit, but BA is always throwing fits. What’s one more?

“I can be useful,” Murdock  promises . “I can. I know I don’t belong, but please if you don’t want me anymore just send me stateside. I’ll stay close to the ground. You won’t even know I’m there. Please, I don’t want to go back.” He can be good. He can be quiet. Anonymous.  _ Normal. _

“Shhh, buddy, buddy,” Face’s hands twitch back and forth, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to invade Murdock’s space. Murdock appreciates that because he isn’t sure either. There’s a weird look on his friend’s face. Anger? Frustration? Murdock can’t tell, but he doesn’t think it’s good. “It’s okay. No one’s going to send you back.”

Oh. Well, that was good. He feels himself relax.

Then someone touches his left wrist and he jerks away.

“It’s okay,” Face says softly again. “It’s okay. It’s just Hannibal he’s going to get the cuff off.”

Off?

There’s a sharp cling and Murdock’s left wrist is free. He wastes no time bringing it close to his chest. If they want it back they’re going to have to pry it away from him!

Another sharp cling and Murdock’s right wrist is liberated.

He clasps them around his torso. They won’t have them back.

He’s surprised to find that his legs are already free. When had they—? It didn’t matter. He curls all four limbs up against himself and crawls away, his back pressed against the bed frame. It tears at stitches and makes his breath hitch, but he can’t bring himself to care. He buries his head in his arms. Why won't they stop looking at him?

Then there’s something wet falling onto his bare arms—where had his bomber jacket gone?—and Murdock brings a hand to his face. Wet. He licks his figures. Salty.

The sobbing earlier. It had been him.

Suddenly he feels embarrassed. How can he convince the team he’s not a recall product when he’s here sobbing like a child?

Wiping at his face harshly, he’s surprised when something soft is pressed into his hand. A handkerchief? It’s got pink lace around the edges and someone’s initials on it. 

Murdock looks at Face who just shrugs and  smiles , “It was a gift, but something tells me you could use it right now.”

“Thanks,” he  mumbles , touching the edges of the soft fabric. He raises it to his face and wipes away the tears and snot. It smells nice. Like some lady’s perfume and Face’s, non-regulation, cologne.

He breathes in the smells. It’s nice. It’s grounding. Almost without meaning to he  asks , “Can I keep this?”

Face  blinks , “…uh sure buddy.” He  says eventually.

Murdock nods and fingers the lace, it’ll be nice to have something after they ship him out.

No, he reminds himself. Face said he was going to stay. He’s  _ useful. _

But the army’s no place for a mutant, the little dark corner of his mind  whispers .

He grips the handkerchief tighter. His hands are starting to shake.

A hand on his shoulder, he flinches away, and it’s gone.

“Murdock, son, it’s going to be okay.” He looks over, Hannibal’s staring at him, mouth set in a hardline, brow furrowed. Murdock had almost forgotten that the other man was in the room. “No one’s going to do anything to you.”

Murdock barks out a laugh, it’s ugly, harsh, people have already done things to him. They’ve poked and they’ve prodded and they’ve betrayed and they’ve probably opened up bars in Texas without him. He puts the handkerchief over his face, muffling the sound, and breathes, letting the smells push away the memories.

“Murdock,  _ no one is going to lay a hand on you. _ ”

And that catches his attention. There’s a conviction there, a promise.

He looks over at his CO, eyes gazing into his. There’s something there in Hannibal’s eyes, something dangerous, threatening, but Murdock doesn’t think it’s aimed at him. It’s aimed at something else. At someone else. He wants to ask about that, but instead a soft “promise?” leaks past his lips.

“On my life.”

Slowly, carefully, he uncurls. Stretching his legs out in front of him and then letting his arms relax, but not his hands. He keeps those firmly grasped around the handkerchief.

“Why are you so scared?” BA  asks suddenly, causing Murdock to jump. He hadn’t realized the bigger man was in the room. “It ain’t like this makes you anymore crazy than you was before?”

“The army’s no place for mutants,” Murdock  mumbles . He thinks of the men he saw being marched away onto planes all those years ago. Where had they ended up? Had they gone to their own personal Mexicos? Where people spoke too loud and demanded too much?

“Fool, this war’d be over if we had twenty more like you,” BA  huffs . “Sounds like they’re the ones who don’t belong here.”

Murdock blinks and a small smile stretches onto his face, “Why BA, was that a compliment?”

“Ain’t no compliment, I’m just saying the facts.”

Murdock allows the smile on his face to linger a few more seconds before it slides off as he turns to address Hannibal, “The higher-ups won’t like me staying…they’re the ones who shipped me out to Mexico in the first place. I’m really not worth the trouble sir, and now that you know the truth, even less so.”

Hannibal  sighs, runs a hand over his face, and changes Murdock’s life, “Murdock, I’ve known the truth since I pulled you from that hospital years ago.”

Murdock  splutters , “What?!”

Beside him, Face  yells , “You knew!”

BA just growls something unintelligible, but the meaning behind it is clear.

“Come on,” Hannibal  smiles . “What’s the first part of any good plan? Being three steps ahead of the other players. I needed a pilot and I knew where I could find one, so I made sure he stayed with us. Mutant or not.”

“Ah,” Murdock doesn’t know what else to say. He’s frowning. So he  _ is  _ useful. Hannibal had known and had kept him around because of that. There was no reason to think that would change. Hannibal had freed him because he was useful, had kept him because he was useful and was going to keep him because he still is useful. Somehow that line of thinking wasn’t nearly as comforting as Murdock had thought it was going to be.

“So,” he says slowly, trying to work out this new information, “as long as you need me, I can stay?”

“Murdock,” Hannibal  sounds like he’s starting to get frustrated. Murdock doesn’t know why he understands perfectly what the Colonel means. “You aren’t staying, simply because we need you, and we do need you, son, never forget that, but that isn't the reason why. You’re staying, because we  _ want  _ you to. We will always want you to stay. No one’s going to send you back.” Hannibal leans forward, blue eyes fierce and protective. “No one is  _ ever  _ going to send you back and as long as you want you can always stay with us.”

“Oh,” and there’s something warm growing in Murdock’s chest. Something nice. He feels his body leave the bed.

“Easy there Peter Pan,” Face suddenly grabs hold of Murdock and yanks him back down. “We can’t have you floating away while you’re all hooked up to machines that are keeping you alive.”

Murdock wants to listen to Face, he really does, but for the first time, he finds that he can’t seem to stop. There just aren't any heavy thoughts available to drag him down/ There's only the pure euphoria that’s channeling through his body and keeping him afloat.

“I can stay?” He echoes quietly.

“For as long as you’d like,” Hannibal replies easily, but Murdock can see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Forever would be nice.”

Hannibal laughs at that for some reason, but Murdock is too happy to care. Next, to him, Face is struggling to keep him anchored, but his hands are gentle and kind, nothing like the hands of Mexico. He turns his head, and yep, there’s BA still sulking in the corner, but he’s wearing his least angry scowl which is as good of a smile as any.

Murdock closes his eyes and lets the tension that’s been there for years drain away. He feels his back hit the mattress and stay there, but he doesn’t bother to wonder how he did it, because for the first time in a long time Murdock feels safe. He feels found. He feels free and the funny thing is it feels a lot like flying. It feels a lot like home.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for forever, since late 2018, and it was supposed to be short, but here we are 13 pages, over 4,000 words, later! But I'm super happy with how it turned out, so I hope that all of you like it too! 
> 
> Also, Murdock's power isn't flight exactly, more like gravity manipulation. He can only go up and down, not side to side unless an outside force is propelling him that way.
> 
> I have some stories planned that will follow the idea of Face having powers (this one's being written) and one with the idea of Hannibal having powers (this one is just a concept sentence and an idea) that I hope to have posted someday. (They'll take place outside this story. Everybody on the Team, but Murdock is completely human in "Home.")
> 
> I also have a few more ideas floating around for a continuation of this story, involving someone outside of the team finding out about Murdock, which opens up the door for a lot of angsty ideas. If anyone is interested let me know in the comments below!


End file.
